Housebroken
by thir13enth
Summary: Mustang competes with Hayate for Hawkeye's love: again. Perfection only comes with practice. And guns. Royai, what else?
1. Jumping the Gun

**Ah…my belated promise to my dear readers of _In Training…_**

**My words are not all empty; what did you expect when I said I'd give you guys "instant gratification," the emphasis not on instant?**

**Anyways, I talk much too much. Welcome new and old readers. I bring you: _Housebroken_.**

**Y'all deserve it. You guys inspired me to write enough chapters to create a whole new sequel. I mean, I had to write one chapter dedicated to each of you reviewers, right?**

**Enjoy.**

**thir13enth**

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><p>This chapter is dedicated to…no one. It's just the intro. No one wants dedication-ownership of a boring intro. :( Perhaps one will want to adopt it?<p>

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><p>Although Roy Mustang was now getting a perfectly good steak every other night, which was definitely a step up from before, Mustang still thought there was something missing.<p>

"Ah yes, you good boy, you good good boy!" he heard Hawkeye coo behind him.

Turning his head, he tested his predictions and sure enough, there was that damn dog again.

In Hawkeye's arms. Where _he _should be. Being called 'cute' and 'good' and all.

Technically he was in a relationship with Hawkeye, but it sure didn't feel like it. Ay, she was just so difficult when it came to sentiments.

Guns and all.

Mustang finally spoke up. Whipping his head back to face the dog and female, he said, "Why does Hayate get special treatment?"

His question broke the cute-dog scene immediately, and he felt Hawkeye's glare back at him shatter glass.

"Well…he's my dog."

Mustang believed this to be absurd. Again with the competition against the damn dog?

Hayate stuck out his tongue. Mustang narrowed his eyes at the canine.

"You're giving Hayate an odd look again, Colonel."

"And that's another thing, Lieuten—Riza," he corrected. "You can call me by my name now. We're practically together."

"Then what was the problem?"

"I just…" and Mustang let out an exasperated sigh. "I just wish that you'd be more expressive, I guess. Well no, I mean, I just want to feel like I'm in a relationship—not that I'm not in one, but like…I don't know? Something to show off? Something that tells the world we're together?"

"I'm your subordinate. Colonel," she replied smoothly. "Fraternization."

"Okay, I don't mean that, I mean," and Mustang tried to think of the words. "I mean, I want to know for myself that you love me. I want to know that this relationship isn't just in my head."

She gave him a gentle rare smile.

"I think you know me better than to think that our relationship isn't just a fantasy."

Mustang couldn't help but crack a smile with her. God, that smile was too precious.

The dog ruined the moment, snorting as if in disgust. Or, at least Mustang interpreted it in that way.

"But you treat Hayate better," Mustang grumbled, just loud enough for Hawkeye to hear.

Her eyebrow raised and he answered promptly.

"He has a comfy and cushiony bed when he gets here, and you just push me off the bed so that I have to sleep on the cold hard floor!"

Hawkeye's forehead furrowed. "Well the last time you got into my bed—"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm forever sorry for that!" Mustang corrected, using his hands as a shield, which remind him of something else. "And you use the gun threat on me more than you do on him!"

Hawkeye didn't seem to understand the complaint, having always learned that pulling out a revolver was the best way to make demands.

"Well…I trust Hayate more," she finally said.

Mustang couldn't even respond to that, eyes open in disbelief. He knew that he didn't get all his work done most of the time….but this was just—

"I trust you both very much," Hawkeye said, putting Hayate down on the ground and putting her hands on her hips. "But there are some places where Hayate is more qualified than you are."

Mustang looked down in shame, and then his eyes caught Hayate's mocking eyes.

_Another competition between you and me, huh?,_ Mustang thought, and the dog's stuck out tongue said it all.

"Like what," Mustang asked.

It took Hawkeye only a second to respond.

"Unlike you, Hayate…"

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><p><strong>I'd ask for reviews, but it's a bit early to ask for that. In any case, any feedback or anger at my very very overdue update? Anyone want to adopt this orphan chapter (if so, let me know and I'll send you the forms)?<strong>

**Also, I can't guarantee speedy installments. You guys are going to have to point guns at me. Let me run away in the meantime.**

**thir13enth**


	2. Clean Start

**Back from my hiatus…this chapter is dedicated to hawkeyeflame1921, one of my original and hardcore reviewers from way back when! I think this one's dropped off a review on practically all of my Royai fics and stuff actually now that I think about it so great great thanks and a round of applause to you, my dear hawkeyeflame1921!**

**Also, ratnalaurentina has offered to adopt the first chapter! Thank you and I'm sure you'll take very good ownership of it!**

**Anyway, I'm apologizing for the great numbers of days that you all have been waiting in anticipation and for the great numbers of days that you have probably forgotten that this story existed until it showed up again on your story alert list—haha! But here we go again…**

**Back to the story. Enjoy. (Those of you unfamiliar with the format of the story…you guys will get it soon—aka, read **_**In Training**_** to get to know it!)**

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><p>"…keeps himself clean and his space organized…"<p>

**theusual**

It was the bright crisp morning, one where the beautiful pink, orange, and red streaks of sunrise stained the lightening velvet blue skies, one where the gray sleet clouds turned to white gold underneath the soft simmer of the developing daylight, one where the sharp edges of the glorious city skyline met in tangent with the smooth curves of the blotchy shadowed patches of colors of the horizons, and one where the misty breath of the night turned thick and almost resentful towards the coming day.

Even through a glass window, the magnificence of the day's beginning was marvelous. Nothing would break the pure early beauty of the heavens.

Except of course the messy desk of a rather irresponsible colonel, a desk that was shamefully set by the window that presented the natural wonders of the morning, surely a stark contrast to the picturesque scene in the desk's background.

He swung his hands back behind his head, leaning back into the recess of his chair and kicked his muddy boots onto the table, dirt falling onto fresh paperwork that was spread out like a frayed pigeon feather all over his desk, with perhaps a pen stuck in between two forms somewhere in the horrible mess.

He sighed, drinking in the stale air of the office and already longing for another taste of the air out in the streets, where he was free and not locked down to a chair having to pretend to be the least bit productive. When he opened his eyes again, the face of a fierce lieutenant was parked right up close to his nose, and he would have been tempted to just stick out his lips a bit more to kiss her flushed cheeks if it wasn't for the murderous intent that lay in her eyes.

And well also if it wasn't for the discouragement of any sort of public displays of affection that she demanded.

"_If you do _anything _with me out in public, then you will get _nothing _when we're alone somewhere private!" _she had said. And he shuddered at the thought of not being able to see her on top of him ever again for other reasons besides tackling him and threatening to beat the living shits out of him when he wasn't finishing a task that was due the next day.

And so thus he didn't kiss her, but by the time he zoned back into the present and out of some side fantasies that he had got caught in while imagining when she was on top of him to _not _kill him, he had already missed her concise scolding.

The spark of annoyance in her eyes—he always loved that flame but he never told her that, in case she made that an excuse to be angered by him even more—told him that she knew he had not been paying attention, and from the looks of it, she probably knew that he had been daydreaming for the short second that her collar was tilted in his direction.

"You see?" she said, low so that no one could hear. "This mess is _exactly _why I would never be able to live with you! Even _Hayate _is better than you at being neat!"

**thenextday**

Mustang arrived early, just some twenty minutes before everyone else was going to start to trickle into the building. He set to work right away, ready to tackle this "cleaning" business.

He took a broom and quickly swept the crap that had accumulated around his desk.

The floor around his desk was perfect and almost sparkling; he couldn't have been more proud of his work. In fact, he had even found the perfect place to transfer the dirt—Havoc's corner of the room! Never again would that dirt _ever _stand a chance at creeping back toward his side of the room! Havoc's desk was just too damn far away for those particles!

After mocking the dirt, now under Havoc's desk, Mustang set to take out the trash in the can under his desk.

He lifted the obese plastic bag and tied it once, then walking over to the nearest other trashcan and pressing his trash into that one. He had thought once about just placing the trash in the dumpster outside, but he was smarter and more efficient than that! Save one trip to the dumpster by stuffing his trash into another—genius!

And now, Hawkeye would have nothing on him when it came to being clean. She just didn't know what kind of a responsible man she was talking to!

But then he looked again at his desk and realized—there were still those messy arrays of papers strewn all over his table.

Crap, what would he do about those?

Ah, but the self-proclaimed genius Mustang thought of the perfect idea.

When Hawkeye slipped into the workplace a couple of minutes later, she was quite charmed to see that Mustang was actually already at his desk, sitting up properly, pen in his hand, working on a small stack of papers. His trash was no longer flowing over and it seemed that the floor around him looked more like hardwood floors. Even the dust on his desk was completely gone—and now the bright sunlight simply shone against his polished desk. It seemed he was practically already done with paperwork that he had, and had even gone so far into productivity as to tidy up his space!

She smiled to herself, knowing that he had probably taken what she said the previous day seriously.

But that smile disappeared when she spotted some dirt—like that from the sole of Mustang's boots—on the papers on top of her stacked pile of work.

Her head cranked in his direction, and he looked up and gave her a smile, one that she snarled back at, "You cleaned?"

He nodded, awaiting her appraisal.

She gave none.

"By moving your mess to my desk?"

Ah, well his plans were foiled.

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><p><strong>thir13enth<strong>


	3. Be Right There

**And well, apologies for the late update; sorry for all those that wait so patiently! I find myself so occupied these days!**

**This chapter is dedicated to mangagirl135.**

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><p>"…he responds when I call…"<p>

**before**

After rather a long and extensive morning, the colonel rested his fair forehead onto his arms, seeming to collapse under the weight of his own head onto the conveniently open book on top of his desk. He pushed out his seat a bit further from the desk to more comfortably angle his torso in order to create the best working nap position.

"Colonel," he heard Hawkeye's voice call.

He sensed the calm urgency in his lieutenant's voice—which could only mean one thing: there was more paperwork to be done.

_Nope, not lifting my head right now. The paperwork can wait, _he thought, not even budging to shift his eyes further down into the cave that his arms and elbows created over.

"Colonel," she repeated.

The flame alchemist started to feel a bit guilty about all of this, but in no way guilty enough to respond. Instead, he plunged his head further down into the open book, feeling more relief as the amount of light that was hitting the top of his eye lids reduced.

"This is important, sir."

This time around, he answered, "Mmrgh," an incomprehensible grumble.

"It's only going to take a few seconds. Please lift your head." And he could feel the tension ticking off in her honey voice. But from his own experience, this was nowhere near the point where she would start pulling out her guns.

Besides, this was in a public place—she wouldn't dare to hurt or threaten him, being his subordinate and all. Definitely frowned upon in the military community and definitely disrespectful and definitely against the rules.

Which also meant that hurting or threatening him was something that Hawkeye was definitely not going to do.

His concerns aside and already thought through, he didn't answer. Also, having resisted this far from her call to get him up, he was not going to simply give up!

_You and I, we're in a battle now—and try as you might to wake me up, I will _not _get up, _he declared mentally, making a fake competition pitting his lieutenant against himself.

"It's noon, sir, I'm sure you're not that exhausted."

"I've been working all morning," he excused, voice muffled under his sleeve. "Productively," he added before she could retort.

"You mean turning oxygen into carbon dioxide?"

He sighed under his breath, and thought of another excuse: "I didn't have too much sleep last night."

Her answer was just as quick. "I'm sure your life isn't that eventful."

"I was almost late and had to run all the way from home to get to work today," he shot back.

"Your apartment is two blocks away," she countered.

"I had to wake up early to train."

"Definitely explains the lack of sleep bags under your eyes."

"Long night at the bar."

"Ah, do you want me to report that you're hung over and incapacitated to the general?"

Urgh, had to change the direction of that conversation.

"Lots of girls last night," he declared.

And here, Mustang was surprised to hear her voice side up next to his ear, her breath tickling the shell of his ear. "Oh? So you're cheating on me?" she whispered quietly.

Underneath his arms, his eyes widened and he cursed under his breath.

He was losing at his own game! What the hell to reply now—

"Oh…poor Hawkeye…are you having trouble getting Mustang up?" the colonel heard Havoc ask.

"Yes," he heard her reply. "It was only too bad because I had wanted to invite him out to lunch. Would you care to join me instead?"

"Lieutenant!" Mustang exclaimed, lifting his head. "Why didn't you just tell—"

A whack to his head with a stack full of documents.

"Ow! What the—"

"Here, there are a few more documents you have to look over, sir," she informed him, slapping the papers onto his desk while he rubbed the stars and ducks out of his eyes.

"Why do you have to trick me so?" the colonel whined, his arms up in the air in surrender.

His lieutenant caught him by the collar and brought his face up to hers. "The next time you don't respond to me, my methods won't involve tricks anymore," she snarled before putting him down in the chair and completely wiping her facial expression blank before saluting Havoc.

Mustang's head fell back down to his new stack of paperwork.

Being her superior, he noted with an exasperated groan, didn't mean he was safe at all.

**after**

His new goal was to respond to every single one of her calls.

This way she wouldn't be able to pick on him for that _ever_ again.

At first, he didn't think she'd notice that he'd be right at her side only a split second after the first syllable of his name or even his title was called, but after having been successful in doing so for the past day, Mustang could tell Hawkeye was turning more and more suspicious about his rather timely behavior.

"Col—"

"Yes?"

Taken aback, she lost her words for a second and stared at him a while before flicking her eyes back to the papers she had at hand.

"I have some additional addendums to the previous contract that you were given," she said, simply.

"Sounds good," he replied, taking the sheets.

He noticed her look at him oddly for a moment, as though she was waiting for him to explain himself.

"What?"

"Nothing," she answered, stepping away.

Later while relaxing, sitting down at his desk, Mustang rested his head on his right hand, looking out the window. He made sure to keep his ears alert though, ensuring his hearing range wasn't obscured.

"Mus—"

"Yes!" and practically out of breath, he was already at Hawkeye's side, having run out of the room he was in and down the hall to reach his lieutenant's side before she even had to look up.

"Did you need something, Colonel?"

Dumbfounded Mustang, responded, "Um, you didn't call me?"

Her eyebrows furrowed and he understood that as a 'no.'

"Oh, sorry about that," the flame alchemist said bashfully, leaving immediately.

The lieutenant rolled her eyes once he was out of the room, returning to her work.

"See, I told you," Rebecca hissed, coming out from behind the door.

"I just don't understand why, or the significance of it," the blonde replied, turning around to her black-haired friend.

"Well…did something happen between the two of you when he was over at your house?"

"No…and I already told you, we're _not _going out!" Hawkeye hit the second lieutenant with a scowl on her face.

"Oh sure, sure, as long as Hayate still gets the love and attention he needs from you."

"Shut up," Hawkeye said, looking off to the side. But then a mischievous smile crept up along her jaw.

Rebecca was quick to pick up her friend's change in demeanor. "What are you thinking?"

"Well, think about it," the lieutenant explained. "Now I can _literally _prank 'call' him."

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><p><strong>Oh Riza…you must love how your man is totally subservient to you…<strong>

**thir13enth**


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